


Please [Don't] Touch Me

by writesupernatural (missjenna)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Self-Insert, vague mention of attempted suicide, vague mentions of verbal/physical abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-03
Updated: 2017-10-03
Packaged: 2019-01-08 16:54:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12258342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missjenna/pseuds/writesupernatural
Summary: Prompt: Imagine being reluctant to other people's touch and finally giving your first hug to the boys





	Please [Don't] Touch Me

**Author's Note:**

> guess what nerds I didn't read this over so please hmu if there's any spelling mistakes

           "Here it comes, Y/N!" you hear Sam call from deep within the depths of the thick forest somewhere in southern Kentucky. You, Sam, and Dean had came to the southern state interested in a particular case that you'd later learned involved an old vampire covenant. You'd been able to kill off a couple of the blood-suckers earlier in the evening, but the head honcho had yet to be found...until now. You stiffen at Sam's call just in time to catch the vampire as it comes flying at you with Sam a few yards behind. You pin him down easily and are quick to take the stake you had in hand and plunge into his chest. The vampire hisses and spits at you, but his movements are weak. Blood pools from the wound in his chest but from his spastic kicks and punches you can tell it's not deep enough to kill him.

           "Stand back," orders Dean as he comes up behind you with a large stake in hand. You don't move from you position and instead focus your strength on holding the flailing vampire down.

           Dean rolls his eyes at your refusal to move and instead takes the second stake and uses it as a hammer to jam your stake in deeper. The vampire leader gives one last sputtering cough, sending flecks of dark red blood on your face which makes you want to heave. 

           “Good job, Y/N!” Sam calls as he rushes up to meet you and Dean. You can’t help but blush at his praise. Despite having a knife in one hand and stake with dried blood covering the point in the other, you feel your heart flutter as he smiles at you.

           “Good work boys,” you say.

           “Good work yourself,” replies Dean.

           You follow the two out of the forest you’d chased the coven leader into. At the edges of the woods you see the small cabin where the coven leader and his followers had been bunking. Sam and Dean are quick to work grabbing gasoline from Baby and setting the little cabin ablaze.

           “Just in case,” says Dean when he catches the confused look on your face, “Maybe one of the fuckers is asleep in the walls, who knows? Better to just burn it all to be safe.”

           “Sounds like something a serial arsonist would say,” you tease. He laughs.

           Once the cabin had burned to ashes and the boys had checked that there wasn’t a chance of a flame sprouting out and igniting the forest, the three of you pile into Baby and argue over where to go for post-hunt celebration dinner.

           You and Sam win out with McDonalds much to Dean’s dismay (he’d wanted Chinese), and with Sam at the wheel, you in the passenger seat, and Dean spread out in the back, you drive down the long country roads in search of a motel and a pair of golden arches.

* * *

 

           Unsurprisingly, it doesn’t take you long to find a McDonalds. You can’t help but feel somewhat comforted by the familiar glow of the neon in the windows as you enter. No matter what state lines you crossed or what part of the country you were in, there was always a McDonalds somewhere that made you feel at home.

           “Oh Sammy, look!” Dean snorts as he motions towards a large cardboard cutout of Ronald McDonald. You almost cough up a lung when you feel Sam stiffen beside you.

           “He’s coming for you, Sammy.”

           You shoot Dean a look of absolute joy as the two of you watch Sam hustle past the cardboard cutout and into the store.

* * *

 

           “Y/N?” Sam asks an hour later with his hand poised over the two large fries the three of you’d ordered. The three of you are squeezed into a booth. You’re squished beside Dean, facing Sam who looks at you expectantly.

           “Mmm?” you reply around a large chunk of hamburger. Dean snorts.

           “Today’s the fifth,” he continues, the expression on his face suggesting that there’s something important about this information.

           You cock your head, unsure and unwilling to risk a guess, “Okay?”

           Sam sighs and shakes his head with a smile, “You joined up with us on this day one year ago!”

           Dean perks up beside you, “Hey! That’s right!” He outstretches his arms and leans towards you, “Can’t believe it’s been that long, can you Y/N?” Instinctively you lean back, but Dean doesn’t seem to get the message. The closer he gets, the farther you lean until you can feel yourself tumble out of the booth.

           You hit the ground with a thump and a “Shit!” The few other customers turn to look at the commotion and an old man in a wrinkled polo gives you a disgruntled look in response to your language. You fight the urge to flip him off. 

           “Oh! Y/N!” You hear Sam move out of the booth and feel his warm, calloused hands grip your small, cold ones.

           “Fuck Y/N, you alright?” Dean. You wonder what kind of look the old man’s giving now.

           You let Sam pull you to your feet. You sway a bit and put a hand to your head. Despite the pain, there’s no blood.

           “You hit your head pretty hard there,” Sam remarks.

           “Shit, did I startle you?” Dean asks, his tone worried, “I thought we were past that.”

           You shake your head (which just makes the developing headache even worse but you ignore it) and put up hands in surrender. “No! No, I’m sorry. It’s my fault.” You bite your lip as you watch a look of confusion pass over their faces. Sam opens his mouth to respond, but you beat him to it.

           "I’m sorry I- I just have a thing with touch. I was caught off guard that’s all.”

           “Oh, Y/N, I didn’t know…”

 

           “How could you?” you ask, “Don’t apologize, Dean. I’ve never mentioned it before. There’s no way you could’ve known.”

           The three of you are quiet for a moment. The customers seem to have gotten past your spectacle and their background chatter is a comforting distraction from the awkward silence that passes between the three of you.

           “I-Is it because your father?” Sam asks, his tone apprehensive.

           “I’d rather not go into this right now,” you reply, your hands clasped together against your chest, eyes focused on your worn out shoes on the checkered tile.

           “Alright.”

           Wordlessly, Sam and Dean gather your garbage and toss the remaining scraps. You follow the two of them back out to Baby and crawl into the backseat. You don’t want to talk, just want to lay your head down.

           “Wait!” Sam says suddenly and he darts from the passenger seat back inside. He returns quickly with a bottled water and two Advil tablets which, upon re-entering Baby, he hands back to you. You gratefully take the pills as Sam settles back into the passenger seat and Dean starts the engine.

           You watch the scenery go by as Baby exits the McDonalds and heads out back onto the country roads.

           “We should find a place for the night,” Dean remarks and you and Sam nod in agreement. It’s gotten dark since you’d entered the McDonalds. Before there’d been a little later afternoon/early evening, but now there was nothing but the glow of the road lights and the moon.

* * *

 

           “Dean?” you ask. It’s been two hours since you departed from the McDonalds and the three of you had yet to find any place to crash for the night. The roads were empty. You couldn’t even find any stops for gas in the last couple of miles. You were beginning to wonder if you’d end up spending the night in the Impala.

           “Hm,” Dean replies, as he glances at you reflection in the rear view mirror.

           “Sam."

           “Yeah.”

           You take a deep breath, “I’m sorry.”

           “Y/N,” the two chorus, both sounding very tired. “Don’t be.”

           “I just…” you start, “I’m sorry, we were having such a good night and I ruined it bein’ all weird with my sensory stuff.”

           “You didn’t ruin it,” says Dean.

           “I just wish we’d known sooner,” Sam adds, “I just keep thinking of all the situations we’d out you in where you must’ve felt weird…” He trails off and the three of you fall into silence.

           “You’re right you know,” you say after a few exit signs have passed, “It’s because of my dad.”

           A year ago the Winchester boys had come into your life and changed it for the better. You’d been a college dropout, nineteen years old with nowhere to go but home. Your father was wealthy in assets, poor in affection. He was bad to you. Treated you like an object he’d have dressed up for occasions or appearances, but ignored and starved for attention anytime else. Whenever he touched you it was because he wanted something. A hug meant he needed you to pay off his debts, a goodnight kiss on the cheek a promise that’d he’d use you as collateral in the coming weeks.

           Despite his money, his favorite thing to bet was you. Whether it be your body, your mind, or your companionship. He gladly offered it anyone who’d take you. You were an object to him. Something that he owned. His affection meant he wanted something in return.

           College had been a lifeline in a sea of uncertainty and regret. Finally you were free from his clutches and there was nothing he could do or say save hoping you’d flunk out. But scholarships can only take you so far and it was hard to handle the workload. Three months in and you were done. Depression. Anxiety. Fear of failure. Why try?

           Instead of returning to your father with your tail between your legs, you decided to take your own life. There was a bridge near campus that led across the water to a small island owned by some wealthy folks in the area. The bridge was high, the weather cool and the water freezing. You thought it’d be a quick and relatively painless way to die and you almost had too…

           Apparently the “wealthy folks in the area” were making their money off some kind of strange paranormal game complete with spirits and the occult and you never got the whole story from the boys but apparently it was a clusterfuck. Anyway, one of these wealthy folks had been possessed that night and running across the bridge followed closely by a very tried, very worn out Sam who just happened to see you standing on the ledge deliberating your choices.

           It was dark out and thinking you were the person he was after, he tackled you to the ground. You remember fighting him, throwing punches and kicks (a few of which had landed but not done much), but finally stopping when he grabbed your fists and got a good look at you in the moonlight.

           “Huh,” he’d said, “You don’t look like someone whose been possessed by a thousand year old ghost.”

           And you were so stressed and so confused that you’d started laughing until you were crying. And Sam had stayed there holding your wrists while you sobbed into his neck well into the night and long after Dean had handled set the bones of the possessed old folk ablaze.

           You’d refused to leave Sam’s side and begged the boys to take you with them. When questioned why you’d want to go with complete strangers you told them your story (leaving out some details) and the two had relented figuring that taking you on one hunt would scare you off for good…but it’d hadn’t.

* * *

 

           “You guys know I’m thankful for you, right? And for everything you’ve done for me?”

           “Aw, Y/N, you’re making me blush,” says Dean. He doesn’t turn back to look at you when he says it and instead continues focusing forward but you can see the corner of lips lift up in a teasing smile.

           You snort, “ _Dean_.”

           Sam reaches back and takes one of your hand in his and squeezes. You quickly recoil, “I’m sorry I made dinner weird.”

           “Y/N,” say Sam, stern brown eyes catching your attention, “Everything we do is weird.”

           “Hell,” adds Dean, “You’ve only been around for a year. Trust me. It’s gonna get weirder.”

           A small laugh escapes your throat which is scratchy and dry. You feel a small stream of tears roll down your cheek. A warm feeling sits in your belly. You want to jump the seat and wrap your arms around the boys, but you keep this want at bay.

           “Y/N?” asks Sam, his tone worried as he watches tear after tear roll down your face. Noticing Sam’s change in tone, Dean pulls Baby over to the shoulder and turns off the ignition. Baby shutters to a stop and you’re left in the Impala with both the Winchester’s eyes on you.

           “I have a thing with touch,” you start softly. “I-I think it’s because whenever I was shown affection it was because somebody wanted something so…I dunno…affection feels weird…fake?”

           Sam nods, “Like there’s no point. It doesn’t feel real, it feels like somebody is playing you.”

           “Basically.”

           “Sorry Y/N,” says Dean and you’re quick to put your free hand to his cheek.

           “Dean,” you say, “Don’t be. You didn’t know…” You trail off, choosing your next words carefully, “I know I’ve been kind of vague about what my father was like. I told you it was bad, but never really gave specifics…”

           The two nod in confirmation.

           You continue, “But he was never honest with me. Everything felt like a trick and I was scared…” You pull your hand away from Dean and remark, “I feel safest when I’m with you two. But even now…” The steady stream of tears has grown heavier now and you can feel snot building up in your nose. “…I’m still afraid of contact. And that’s unfair to you two because you trust me and I love you two and…”

           Sam turns away from you and steps out of Baby, moving the seat back. Then he’s next to you, his big, bulky shoulders digging into you as he squeezes in the back. He motions to your hands which now sit clasped in your lap.

           “Do you want to be touched?” he asks and you nod without thinking.

           “I’m tired of being afraid,” you say.

           Sam holds out a hand to you and you tentatively place your hand in his. He squeezes and you squeeze back.

           “That’s not so bad,” you say.

           Dean chuckles as he watches you two, “Well now I feel left out.” He exits the front seat and pulls open the backdoor on your other side.

           “Dean,” warns Sam as the elder Winchester gently shoves you toward Sam. “Touch. We’re starting slow.”

           “It’s alright,” you whisper softly, “It’s nice.”

           Dean squeezes in next to you, turning the backseat into a sandwich with you as the center. The boys are warm and comforting. There’s a feeling of rising anxiety in your belly but your force it back down.

           “We love you Y/N,” Sam says softly.

           “Really?”

           “Of course,” replies Dean. “And you know I don’t say that easily.” Sam chuckles at that.

           You nibble your lip and lean closer into Sam. Finally, you bite the bullet and wrap your arms around his neck. He gives a soft “oh!” as you bury you face into his neck, but he doesn’t push you away. You feel his strong, tanned arms wrap around you waist and your quick to wiggle away and turn on Dean instead. You repeat your hug, but quickly pull away before they can respond. You worry you’ve hurt their feelings but a swift glance at each of their faces reveals nothing of the sort.

           In fact, when you pull away from Dean, he’s beaming.

           “How do you feel?”

           You return Dean’s grin. “It’s a start,” you say.


End file.
